


Goals

by Zetal (Rodinia)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fic Facer$ Charity Auction 2020 (Supernatural), M/M, Nostalgia, Soccer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/pseuds/Zetal
Summary: While channel surfing, Castiel finds a soccer game.  He notices Sam's nostalgic reaction and the two watch the game together.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21
Collections: FicFacer$ 2020





	Goals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VegasGranny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegasGranny/gifts).



> Prompt: how about Sam trying to watch a game of soccer with Castiel (Sam used to play soccer in school when he could and still a fan) Castiel keeps asking weird questions, like  
> why the ball looks like that, why the teams pick those colors, etc and they end up just having fun watching the game and shouting at the tv by the end of it laughing.
> 
> (Sorry to be late - this accursed year, you know?)

Sam wasn’t much for channel surfing. That was Dean’s thing. Sam would usually prefer to curl up with a good book, or put in some time cataloging and updating the library. Today was different. He had Castiel with him, and Castiel was fascinated with the TV. Even with Metatron infodumping stories into his head, Castiel still found television to be his favorite way of experiencing human entertainment. So Sam let Castiel have the remote, and sat back with his book to divide his attention.

That changed when he looked up and saw that Castiel had paused on a soccer match. It was just about to start, and nostalgia washed over Sam from his school days. Castiel turned to look at him, head tilted to one side. “Did you play as a child?”

“I did. High school, too, when the coaches were willing to take a chance on me.” Some coaches had taken one look at his transcript and declined to take a chance on the boy with the patchwork quilt records, and Sam had never blamed them. After all, they were nearly always proven right when Sam left just when he’d have really gelled with the new team. Others had given him a tryout, and with his training from John Winchester, his athleticism and determination had won them over. He’d even hidden from his dad one time when John had tried to move them out the day before a playoff game. Thankfully, Dean had sided with him, convincing John to just leave Sam to catch up instead of showing up to the game and causing a scene.

“Not college? You wouldn’t have had to worry about stability by then.”

Sam’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “If I’d been able to play consistently in high school and get some real coaching, I might have – that’s one way to get a scholarship. Other schools I might have been able to walk on, but Stanford’s soccer team was too good. They played for the national championship that year. I wouldn’t have had a chance. I didn’t mind that much, really, it meant more time to focus on my studies and making friends.”

Castiel nodded and turned his attention to the game, watching a couple passes before pointing to the ball. “Why does the ball look like that? Wouldn't a single color be easier?”

“Hey, it’s less weird-looking than a football, you know, at least it’s properly round,” Sam protested. It got a nod from Castiel. “According to a coach I had in a kiddie league, soccer balls start out pure white. They start turning black where players touch them with their hands. If they get all the way black, they’ll turn into a bowling ball and that really hurts to kick.”

Castiel turned his head to squint at Sam. “That makes no sense. Hands don’t leave perfect pentagons, and nothing about a child’s hand could transform the matter.”

“No, but it’s funny and reminds little kids that they’re not allowed to use their hands, which was the point.” Sam wondered momentarily what Mr. Sanders was up to now. He hadn’t seen him among Lucifer’s minions keeping an eye on him, so it seemed likely he was still alive somewhere.

After a moment, Castiel broke the silence, turning away from intent study of the ball. “Also, the ball isn’t black. It’s got colors.”

“These ones do, yeah, usually the team colors with a white background, but if you ask any American to describe a soccer ball, they’ll say it’s black and white. When the World Cup started getting televised, the people in charge designed the ball so that it would be obvious on small black and white screens, and this is what they came up with. Now that we’ve got color TV and bigger screens, high-level teams like these guys will have a flashier ball.”

“I see.”

The ball flew around the pitch. After one pass badly missed the intended target and went out of bounds, something occurred to Sam. “You know, I defended it as being properly round, but a few years back there was a lot of talk that the balls used at the World Cup were _too_ round. They didn’t have the right drag in the air, so they were unpredictable. The players pretty much universally hated them.”

“Interesting. What’s the World Cup?”

“It’s when the best national teams in the world compete to be named world champions. Great time for soccer fans, and pretty much the only time most Americans care about the sport at all. I’m honestly surprised to see a soccer game on TV right now.” Sam watched the game – neither team playing meant anything to him, they were both Italian teams but that’s all he could say. “Know anything about either team?”

“No. I assume the Hellas Verona team is from Verona, but I don’t know where Atalanta would be from. Why do you ask?”

Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, but it can be more fun to watch a match if you’re cheering for one side or the other. If you don’t have a better reason to pick a side, then I’m picking Verona, because those look like dogs on their logo.”

Castiel peered at the screen, and then nodded. “Yes, I see what you mean. I agree with picking the team because of dogs.” They watched the game in silence for a bit, and then Castiel had another question. “Do the colors mean anything? They both have blue on their uniforms.”

Sam shrugged. “At their level? I would guess probably related to the colors of the city they represent. Schools typically go for their school colors, national teams for their country’s colors, so a city team would likely go for their city. For kids’ teams, it’s pretty much whatever’s available and the kids think are cool. Same thing for team nicknames.”

“Hmm.” Castiel pointed to the goalkeeper for Verona. “What about that one? He’s wearing different colors. Is that normal?”

“Yeah, it lets the referee know that they have special rules.” Atalanta took a shot on goal, and the green-clad goalkeeper caught it with his hands. “They’re the only players on the field who are allowed to use their hands and arms, within certain areas, so the different colors make it a snap judgment for the referee to know that it was the keeper who used his hand on the ball.” The keeper tossed the ball back into play, and Sam groaned as a player for Atalanta intercepted a pass down the field.

Even without any real attachment to the teams, it was still fun to watch the match. Sam hadn’t realized how much he missed the game until he was glaring at one of the shooters. “I could shoot better than that in high school, what was that?”

"I certainly have no idea." Castiel turned his attention from the game again. “What position did you play?”

“Midfielder, since I had the stamina and the vision. Dad’s warrior training was useful that way. How the coaches used me depended on who else they had – I was generally just happy to play, wherever they stuck me.” Sam watched carefully, and then pointed out a player for Verona. “That guy, he’s a central midfielder, helps with both attack and defense. That’s what I usually did, which meant a lot of running to be in position.” Dean used to say he was exhausted just watching Sam play, and the memory made him grin. Of course, Dean had also made a point to tell him how well that stamina would serve him with the ladies… or dudes, once Sam came out as pan. It had made Sam roll his eyes at the time, but he had to admit, Dean was right.

“Would you want to play again? If there was a way?”

Sam paused, thinking that over. Would he? He did miss it, and being able to be on a steady team and enjoy himself with friends who also liked soccer enough to play as adults despite not being pros would be a welcome change from the isolation of his life. On the other hand, it had been years. “Maybe. It wouldn’t be the same, for sure, but I think it could be cool. Don’t think it’s likely, though. Soccer’s thought of as being for kids in America, unless you’re good enough to go pro or make the Olympics, adult leagues are usually softball or bowling or something like that, or getting a bunch of people together to play touch football in the park.”

“Hmm.” They went back to watching the game, Sam occasionally explaining a call or a decision to Castiel, but mostly just enjoying the game. At the end of the half, Castiel frowned. “I thought the half was only forty-five minutes.”

“Oh, yeah, stoppage time can be confusing,” Sam said. “Unlike most sports, they don’t stop the clock for injuries or time spent sorting out situations, but that’s time that’s not actually played. So the refs add more time at the end of the half or the game so you get the full time in the game.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to just stop the clock instead of having to add time?”

Almost certainly. Even after having played, Sam still didn't really understand how the refs determined whether downtime qualified for added time or not. “Every game’s got it’s weirdness, you know? This is one for soccer.” Sam groaned as the keeper for Verona missed saving a goal as his fingertips weren’t quite enough to deflect it away. “I prefer it to football where it seems like there’s more standing around than actually playing.”

“I suppose that is a good thing. You don’t like football?”

“Oh, I do, just not as much as Dean, and I never liked playing it. And then there was always the resentment at how football players got treated in school, compared to how soccer players got treated.” It’s not like Sam had needed his teachers to give him grade boosts or forgive homework assignments or let him skip class without saying a word. He didn’t care about the girls. It bothered him that people thought it was fun to call him gay, but that was more that they thought it was okay to use gay that way than because they were applying it to him. It just sucked that once again, he was different, and people wouldn’t let him be himself. “Watching it on TV is fine, but when there’s a soccer match on and no Dean to argue with, I’m definitely happier with the soccer match.”

“Then I am glad to share this opportunity with you.” Castiel watched the match in silence, broken only by the occasional cheer or groan as something interesting happened. The second half went better for Verona as they managed not to surrender any more goals, but they couldn’t score any of their own. Sam reached for the remote as the stoppage time came to an end. “It would appear that we picked the wrong side."

It didn't really matter to Sam, but maybe Castiel had gotten more invested than he had. "Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry. There are lessons to be learned from defeat, as much as there are from victories.” Castiel held up his phone. “For example, next time, we could look up the records of each team, or who’s favored. Research is important.”

Sam’s giant smile came out as he laughed softly. “But underdogs are fun to cheer for, too, so we might have chosen Verona anyway. Next time? We’re gonna do this again?”

Castiel looked up at Sam, head tilted in confusion. “I enjoyed it, you enjoyed it, Dean has his own TV if he wants to watch something else, and soccer happens frequently. Is there a reason I shouldn’t assume we would do this again sometime?”

“Well, when you put it that way… no, there really isn’t.” Sam pulled Castiel in for a hug. “I just keep forgetting that Dean and I have our own TVs now.”

**Author's Note:**

> The explanation for the black and white soccer ball is courtesy of my father, who coached my kiddie league teams until I stopped playing in third grade.


End file.
